


A for Effort

by Rose_of_Pollux



Series: Coping Blurbs [3]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 21:13:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8549299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: Illya's cooking skills leave much to be desired...





	

Napoleon paused in the doorway of the apartment he shared with Illya. There seemed to be a strange smell in the apartment–something burning mixed with… potpourri?

Illya was sitting in the armchair, his face hidden in a book.

“…Illya, what happened while I was gone?”

“Nothing,” the Russian replied, a little too hastily.

Napoleon blinked as he took notice of the parts of Illya’s ears not obscured by his hair turning bright red.

“So, ah… I can’t help but notice a distinctive odor to the place?”

“It is common knowledge, Napoleon, that one gets desensitized to odd smells after prolong exposure. Just ignore it, and you will soon take no notice.”

“Well, I know that, but I can’t help but be a _little_ bit curious as to the source of this odor.”

“Well, let me put your mind at rest and assure you that it is not because of any THRUSH-related activity. This apartment is secure.”

“And I’m glad to hear that, but I would still like to know–”

“Mr. Solo!?”

Napoleon jumped as he heard a pounding on their door. Illya leaped out of the chair and was about to leave the room before Napoleon grabbed him by the arm.

“I think I left something in the bedroom–” Illya began.

“It’ll keep; that’s our landlady!”

He let her in and then took note of her irate expression.

“Is there a problem, Mrs. Thames?” he asked, trying to put on his charming smile.

“There won’t be on one condition,” she said, and she pointed at Illya. “Tell him he’s not allowed to try any more cooking experiments in here!”

Napoleon looked to the still-slightly-hazy kitchen, and then to Illya, who was looking determinedly at the wall.

“Okay, I think we can promise that,” he said.

Satisfied, she left, and Napoleon now turned to Illya.

“I’m assuming the potpourri is from you trying to cover up the smell.”

Illya looked back at him.

“If you laugh…”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” Napoleon said, giving Illya’s shoulder a squeeze. “And just to show you that I appreciate the effort, dinner’s on me.”

“… _Spacibo_.”


End file.
